“Don’t make it sound like camping. You’ve got the presidential suite.”
“I’d rather be aboard Olympia.”
“Yeah, I know. There’s no place like home. The judge will let you go to Kona if you want. I’ll put the letter in front of her first thing in the morning. You can fly over as soon as she gives her blessing.”
“I’d like that.”
She looked at me. “Enjoy your freedom while you can, John. Today was easy. But the next round won’t be.”
“What are you saying?”
“To toss in some baseball metaphors, I’m saying that this was the warm-up, the preseason game. I’m saying that you were the home team today, and we used the home-team advantage. But you’re going to be out on the road in San Francisco, with a different pitcher, and in an alien ballpark. You won’t have a friendly umpire like you did today. And you won’t have me.”
She regarded me over the top of her glass, her huge dark eyes solemn and serious.
“I’m saying it ain’t over till the fat lady sings,” she said “And truth to tell, this one may go into extra innings.”
30
A ringing telephone woke me, sending waves of adrenaline tremors through my body. Or it could have been the dream, something malevolent, something I could not quite remember in detail now that I found myself startled back into consciousness. The room was bathed in soft morning light. Reality could be a peaceful place. But the dream had contained something evil, something that stole my normal morning cheerfulness from me like a thief.
Something that left me with the shakes.
I reached for the receiver. Angelica had already picked it up.
“It’s for you,” she said, handing me the telephone before she gracefully rolled from the bed and strolled into the bathroom. I admired her golden skin from her shoulders to her perfect, tiny feet before answering.
“Caine.”
“That one of your little nursemaids?” Kimo’s gravely voice greeted me cheerfully, not something I would have expected after last night’s events.
When I hesitated, he pushed on. “How you feeling this morning? You able to leap tall buildings with a single bound?”
“I might need two or three until I get some coffee.”
“Got some coffee downstairs. Pure Kona, if the menu can be believed.”
Kimo had seemingly thrown off his funk. I wondered how he had managed.
“What’s up?”
“You’re the defense investigator of record for Donna Wong. Her attorney called this morning to remind me of that fact. Counsel was fairly persuasive. So I’m extending an unofficial invitation to you—in your official capacity—to accompany me on a search for The Truth, capital T, capital T. It’s rare, I know, for the prosecution and the defense to cooperate so thoroughly, so openly, so—”
“I know. You’re wonderful. What do you want?”
“Come with me. I need another pair of eyes and ears. I don’t trust my own … anymore.”
I wondered if Kimo had meant “my own” as his own people or his own eyes and ears, but I didn’t ask. If it were the former, he would tell me.
“When and where?”
Angelica came back into the room and lay down upon the crisp white linen, stretching her lithe body next to mine. I could feel her soft, moist skin where we touched. I made the mistake of looking into one of her deep brown eyes, so dark it was nearly black. Inside the pupil, a spark of mischief lived. I knew where that was going and felt myself drawn into the dark pool. Looking into the whirlpool, I had missed part of the conversation. Kimo was saying something to me on the telephone.
“What?”
“I said I’m downstairs, having coffee. Can’t afford anything else here. I’ll be waiting. Come down as soon as you can pry yourself loose from your, er, little nurse.”
“Have breakfast. Put it on my tab.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“I’ll be down in ten minutes. I’ve got to shower and brush my teeth.”
“Floss. Take fifteen. And leave your watchdog. I don’t want him around.”
“Do you have to go?”
“Kimo wants me to back him up. I’m not sure why, but he wants me with him.”
“And you will go? Just like that?” She rolled over on her back, raised her arms over her head and stretched like a tawny cat.
“Yes,” I said, watching her smooth, supple skin in the morning light.
“You seem to be better than when I first came to your bed.”
“Better?”
“More able.”
“And you report this to Chawlie?”
“Someone does.”
“Not in detail, I trust.”
She smiled. “Not in accurate detail, anyway.” She rolled back over. “Are you sure you must go now?”
“I gave my word.”
“But you will be back?”
“Tonight.”
“Don’t get too tired, John Caine.”
I rolled out of bed and patted her bare bottom, enjoying the tactile sensation on my palm. To me she represented the return of pleasure. She taught me secrets of lovemaking that I, an old war dog, had never even heard whispered before. Chawlie did indeed know what he was doing. Angelica was an expert in the ways of the Tantra, and she was teaching me about the chakras and the kundalini. Suddenly I didn’t feel so old.
“I’m going to shower. Rest. I’ll be back tonight.”
She watched me as I crossed the room, as still as a golden statue.
I watched her in the mirror, watched her watching me until I closed the door and got ready to meet the big policeman who had summoned me.
“This guy Hawaiian?” I asked as we approached the suspect Kimo had chosen. The kid sat on one of the wizard rocks at Waikiki beach, the Diamond Head side of the police substation.
“Chinese-Portuguese-Japanese-Filipino. Not Hawaiian, but who’s counting? He’s in solidarity with the Hawaiians, you know?” Kimo smirked. “This guy has no clue we’re here, does he?”
As Kimo had explained it to me over his plate of rice and eggs and a double order of Scottish bangers, he had narrowed down the suspect to one of three people, all part of an unofficial group at the U of H, each having some affiliation with Hawaiian-rights groups, each having access to the computer lab. Kimo wanted me more as a witness, I supposed, than as an investigator. But with Kimo, as with Chawlie, his motives were more likely to be discovered after the plan was already in play.
The young man sunned his lard on the wizard rock, headphones in his ears, oblivious to everything but the Jawaiian reggae rap blasting his senses. The gain was maxed on the set. I could hear the angry bleating ten meters away.
Kimo slapped the kid on the sole of his bare foot.
He sat up, startled.
“Need to talk to you,” said Kimo.
The kid shook his head.
Kimo ripped off the headset. “I NEED TO TALK WITH YOU!”
“I think he heard that,” I said.
“What?”
Kimo picked the kid up by his belt buckle, bringing him more or less to a standing position, not an easy feat. The kid weighed close to three hundred pounds. “I SAID—”
“I heard you, man,” said the kid. “Put me down.”
“Got any Maui Wowie?”
“What?”
“How about some Aloha Gold?”
“Huh?”
“You dig elephant?”
“What?”
“What’s your permanent address?”
“What?”
“Does your mother know you play with yourself?”
“Hey!”
Kimo put the kid down. “Your name Francis Quionnes?”
“Yeah. You gonna arrest me?”
“You got a guilty conscience?”
“I want a lawyer.”
“Just asking a couple of questions.”
“Didn’t feel like you were asking questions. Felt like you were hassling me. And I want a lawy
er.”
“Hey, Francis, we only want to talk.”
“Fucking pig,” said the kid. “Why you hassling me? I didn’t do nothing.”
“He’s probably right,” I said, “considering the double negative.”
“You a college student?”
“Was. Not no more.”
“English major?” I asked.
The kid ignored me.
Kimo gave me a sour look.
“Could you prove your whereabouts if I gave you a date and a time?”
“Since when do I have to prove that in the land of the free and the home of the brave? You ever read the Constitution?”
“Can you spell that?”
“Keep your mouth shut, Caine.” Kimo braced the kid. “Got a little education, do you? Been spending your nights at the U of H computer lab? Oh, I forgot. You were tossed out, right? For stealing supplies. Abusing the system. Why don’t you get a job?”
“Why don’t you get a real job, man? When we Hawaiians take back our islands from the—”
“You Hawaiian?”
“What?”
“Can you recite the Kumulipo?”
The kid looked blank.
“Can you count your ancestors back to Havaki’i?”
“I—”
“Which island does your family call home? And what does that mean?”
“You fucking pig. You think you’re Hawaiian, but you work for the haoles. If you cared, you’d join us.”
“Who is us?”
The kid looked at us in silence, knowing he’d opened his mouth and put his foot in it. All the way to his shinbone.
“Come on,” said Kimo. “You said ‘join us.’ I want to know what that means. Who is ‘us,’ exactly?”
“I said too much.”
“Maybe. Who is ‘us’?”
The young man shook his head.
“Is it Silversword?”
“I want a lawyer.”
“Why? I’m just asking questions. What’s a lawyer going to do for you? You got a guilty conscience?”
The young man wouldn’t budge. He closed his mouth and shook his head, as if the words would slip out otherwise. He reminded me of a huge mutant toddler, caught in the act of some wanton disruption, refusing to acknowledge his guilt.
“Thanks,” said Kimo, after a few long moments of staring at the kid. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Kimo turned his back on the kid and walked away from the wizard rocks. He looked like a mountain, moving toward Mohammed.
“Mahalo,” I said to the kid.
Kimo snickered.
“You won’t be laughing when you arrest your own son!”
Kimo turned and charged the kid, slamming him down into the sand. Standing over him, he pointed a finger the size of a sausage at the kid’s face. “You have something to back that up with?”
The young man smiled, shook his head, and said, “Got a little education, do you? Everybody knows you’re not supposed to use a preposition to end a sentence with.”
Ready for the response, I stepped in to intercept the coconut of a fist that arced toward the kid’s head. “That’s enough, Kimo! Drop it!” His eyes were wild, and I knew his secret. “Just drop it.”
He looked at me, flexed his muscles to loosen the adrenaline charge, relaxed, and stepped away.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s not worth it.”
I noticed that he was still breathing hard. Kimo was trying, and not successfully, to hide the powerful emotions that were streaming through his body and his soul.
“I’ll take it from here, Kimo,” I said.
He nodded, looked down at the kid on the ground, shook his head, and walked away.
I waited until he was gone, lost in the crowd near the police substation. Then I helped the kid to his feet.
“You know what you’re talking about?”
“Fuck you, haole. You gonna beat me, too?”
I shook my head. “Not worth the effort.”
His blank look was rewarding.
“Do you know what you’re talking about?”
“About what?”
“About Kimo.”
He gave me a knowing look and raised the middle finger of his left hand.
“Then mahalo to your mother, too,” I said, meaning it.
31
He’s in there, Caine.” The desk sergeant pointed over his shoulder toward the tiny cubicle of an office behind the counter. I could see a pair of size fourteen sandals on the desk behind the door, wiggling just enough to let me know their owner was in an animated telephone conversation.
The sergeant made no offer to open the gate so I waited outside, lingering next to the standing rack of long boards belonging to the Waikiki Surfing Association. It was the oldest surfing club in the world. Kimo told me once that his grandfather had been a charter member. Or was it his great-uncle? All I could recall was that they had the same last name. They used to call him Duke.
“Caine!”
Kimo stood at the glass door of the substation.
“You coming in or not?”
“Don’t you think it would be better if we talked outside?” The tiny station had many pairs of ears, and Kimo had things to say that didn’t need to be repeated. Especially among his colleagues.
“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “Let’s go for a walk.”
I trudged through the soft sugar sand to the water’s edge, looked behind me to make sure he was there, shucked off my sandals and waded in until the warm Pacific covered my thighs. Kimo followed, and we waded along in the clear, shallow water, following the shore, heading toward the Royal Hawaiian. Wading in the surfline, pushing the warm water past our legs, forced us to use our thigh muscles. For some strange reason it had a calming effect. I’d always found that this particular exercise, striding through the sea on a bright, beautiful morning, provided enough of a lift to get me out of any particular funk I might find myself in.
“You ever have kids?”
“Me? No. Never married. Never settled down.”
“You don’t need a piece of paper to get children, Caine.”
“Then ‘I don’t know’ is the absolutely correct answer. Or ‘probably not.’ Or ‘not that I’m aware of.’ Take your pick.”
“Children. You bring them into the world, or into your home, and you devote your life to them. You love them, you feed them, you raise them, and then they break your heart.”
I didn’t answer, having no experience in the matter.
“You heard what he said.” Kimo didn’t look at me when he talked, and he waited until we were beyond earshot of the nearest tourist.
“I heard.”
“I lost it.”
“I remember.” My hand still felt numb from catching the blow.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
This time Kimo looked at me, peering at me from under the shade of his huge hand covering his forehead, squinting in the bright morning sun reflecting off the water. “You really think so?”
I shrugged.
“You heard what he said. It’s something I heard before. From someone close to me. I refused to believe it then.”
“You do now.”
He shook his head, like a horse trying to discourage a fly that kept buzzing around his ears.
“You know which son?”
He nodded. “It all fits.”
I waited, knowing there was more.
“He’s really been pushing this Hawaiian thing. At home, during the dinner hour, he keeps beating on us—me—to work for his group. You know, I forgot which group he got involved in at the college, but it’s one of those with more Chinese than Hawaiians, one of those with the ‘We’re all brothers of color, united against the white man’ crap.”
“The evil white overseer.”
“That’s you, Caine.”
“Have to practice twisting my moustache while I tie the maiden to the railroad track.”
“Don’t joke about
it. That’s the way they see it. And I’m not sure they’re that far wrong. The Portagee, when he came here, was the luna.”
“They were vicious bastards, carried a whip like Indiana Jones and they treated the plantation workers like shit. I know the story.”
Kimo snorted. “Yeah, but the workers weren’t Hawaiian. We’d already been mostly killed off by then.”
“And above the Portagee was the white man.”
“Portagee’s white. He’s just not as white as the ones with the money.”
“It’s my burden, I suppose.”
“I don’t need your asshole routine right now, Caine. I need some sound thinking out of you.”
“As a friend? Or as Donna Wong’s investigator?”
Kimo nodded. “Fair question.” He suddenly kicked the water ahead of him, sending silver showers high into the air. “Okay,” he said, kicking the water a second time. “As a friend. And a friend of my son.”
“You going to tell me which one?”
“No.”
“So what do you need?”
“You’ve got your extradition hearing tomorrow. You knew that, didn’t you?”
“No.” That sent a flood of adrenaline down my spine. Chicken skin erupted on my forearms. My back felt a sudden chill.
“I thought Tala said she’d call you about it. Nine in the morning. Tomorrow.”
“You pulled me out of my hotel room before she had the chance. Unlike some people, she probably didn’t want to wake me.” Kimo nodded, but said nothing. “So I’ve got one more day of freedom left? Is that what you’re telling me? I just got out of jail, and now they’re going to send me to California?”
“Probably.”
“Then why am I spending my last day with you?”
“You’ve got today and tonight to help me put the capper on the Hayes case so I can get the judge to drop the charges against Donna. She won’t have you around after you’re extradited, and frankly this case is just a little too close for me to be impartial. I don’t want this to get around the department until I make the arrest, and I need you to keep me from killing the suspect. I can’t afford to lose my job. My family needs the money.”
“You’re really asking me to spend the day with you, knowing that I’m going to go to jail?”
“Keep you out of trouble,” he said.
Silversword Page 20